


Rising from the Ashes

by wingedflower



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Burns, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Langst, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Scars, Team as Family, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 20:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedflower/pseuds/wingedflower
Summary: A sequel to IcyPanther's one-shot "Please, can anyone hear me?" following Lance's recovery. More details in the author's notes.





	Rising from the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IcyPanther](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/gifts).



> A while ago I commissioned IcyPanther for a fic about Lance getting really bad burns after the battle with Sendak (post season 7). She wrote an AMAZING hurt/comfort fic called Please, Can Anyone Hear Me? that gave me all the feels, so of course I had to go and write a sequel, because I'm insane, and I can never get enough of Langst.
> 
> I worked super hard on this one. It's actually the longest one-shot I've ever written, and English is not even my first language. All these medical terms… *wipes gallons of sweat off forehead* I am very proud of it though. It was completely self-indulgent, but I did a pretty serious research about rehabilitation for burn victims, in order to write things that actually make sense. XD However, I allowed myself to play with the times a little (the time frame of this fic is about four months, and I know it takes a lot longer to recover from third-degree burns), because the show takes place in the far future, where they have robots and all, so I assumed they have a far more advanced medical technology. Also: I have no idea how Allura's magic works, but no one really does, so I allowed myself to make up all kinds of stuff there as well.
> 
> Since this fic refers directly to events from the first part, reading it is strongly advised before you read the sequel. Also, did I already mention it's an AMAZING fic??
> 
> Warnings/triggers: some gory descriptions of injuries and scars, and all the stuff mentioned in the tags.

"Ready to go?" Veronica asked.

Lance's hands tightened weakly around the thin blanket covering his legs. "Yes," he said, avoiding his sister's gaze. He didn't feel ready at all; he doubted he ever would.

Veronica, of course, picked up his hesitation right away. She walked around the chair and knelt in front of him, placing her own palm – burn scars still visible, if only barely – on top of his. "You don't have to go, you know," she said softly. "No one is going to judge you for needing more time."

Lance shook his head, even though the movement made him dizzy.

He had to do this. He couldn't hide in his hospital room forever. He had to go out and be able to actually meet people, even if it was only for lunch.

Which would take place at the Garrison's main cafeteria.

Where everybody could see him.

This pathetic, broken version of him.

It's been a whole month since the final battle with Sendak, since Lance nearly died after being trapped inside a burning, unresponsive lion. One month and three surgeries later, the progress he had made was so small and insignificant he wanted to scream from frustration.

The first surgery had gone without issue. It was simply a debridement – peeling the dead flesh off his stomach and thighs, where the burns were so bad he needed skin grafts. However, since the area that needed to be covered by grafts was rather vast, the doctors had decided to do it in two separate surgeries – first his thighs, and then, assuming there wouldn't be any complications such as infection or rejection of the new skin, his stomach.

Lance didn't remember much of the days after each surgery – and for that he was grateful, as according to what the doctors and his parents told him in bits and pieces once he was lucid enough, his body had been a terrible mess during this time.

Even though the edges of the grafts had been welded together with some super-advanced laser technique (that Pidge would have probably geeked over), he'd still developed a serious infection after the first grafting in both his thighs and left foot – where he had a wound similar to a second degree burn after skin cells were taken from there to use as grafts – which had forced the doctors to wait more than a week until he was stable enough for the second grafting. During that week Lance had been on a concoction of antibiotics and other drugs that had kept him passed out for the better part of the week. However, the short bouts of wakefulness had been filled with so much agony (especially in his left foot, which felt like it was on fire all over again) he had practically begged to be knocked out again.

The second grafting had been successful and without any residual infections, but a new problem appeared in the meantime: the eschar formed over his chest, which had its own share of nasty burns, had grown so thick and leathery it started to put dangerous pressure on the blood vessels there, making it harder to breathe. The doctors had explained this could impair circulation and even cause irreversible muscle necrosis, so they had had to sedate him again in order to make an incision all the way down to his fatty tissues and release the pressure. Lance had nearly vomited just from the description of the process. He had been relieved to wake up with his chest already cleaned up and re-bandaged, but his relief had been short-term as he still had to take another course of antibiotics that had made him even more queasy and weak.

It was only at the beginning of this week that he was finally stable enough to be allowed out of bed without fear his body would fall apart or catch another illness. Not that was able to walk anywhere; his lower limbs were still mostly immobile, the muscles and joints completely stiff after weeks of lying in bed and growing a coarse layer of scar tissues, so he had to use a wheelchair if he wanted to move around. However, so far Lance had only used it to visit the bathroom inside his room, as getting from his bed into the chair and vice versa was a slow, painful process that required another person's assistance and made Lance's cheeks flush with shame every time, so he tried to do that as little as possible.

But today was different.

Today, he was going to leave his room for the first time since his hospitalization, and wheel himself all the day down to the cafeteria.

It had been Shiro's idea. Lance had only started to eat actual food again a few days ago, after weeks of being nourished through either an IV or a feeding tube threaded through his nose (he still shuddered thinking about it, throat constricting at the memory of that _thing_ inside of it; this and the breathing tube that had been forced down his trachea right after he was pulled out of Red were sure to give him enough nightmares for a lifetime), so his stomach couldn't really handle anything more than plain soup or mashed vegetables (not to mention he could only chew with the right side of his jaw), but Shiro had asked him nonetheless to consider joining the other paladins at the cafeteria at least one meal a day.

"They all miss you like crazy," he had said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth. "And I think it'll be good for you to get out of this room for a while."

Lance's chest tightened with guilt. He had been either too sick or weak in the past few weeks to have any visitors other than his parents, his brothers and sisters (Nadia and Sylvio were yet to visit; Luis had hesitantly asked Lance if he should bring them along, but Lance wasn't ready yet to let his niblings see just what has become of their uncle, and he nearly chocked at the mere thought) and Keith, who seemed to know best how to calm Lance down when the flames and pain invaded his dreams, making him scream and cry and thrash in bed for long, agonizing minutes until Keith's low murmurs and gentle yet persistent touches managed to pull him back from throes of hell. Shiro had come a few times to check on him, never able to stay long as he was drowning in work, and he had been told Coran, Allura and Romelle had come too but he had been either sleeping or too feverish at the time to remember it.

He felt like a lousy friend. He knew it was dumb – it wasn't _his_ fault he had been confined to bed for so long – but that didn't make the feeling go away. He couldn't avoid his friends, his _family_ , forever. Hell, Pidge had already flown with her father and brother to the other side of the world and back to help with reconstruction plans and such – Lance should be able to handle one lunch.

The real question was, would his friends be able to handle the sight of him?

Because even though the blanket draped over him hid his mangled stomach and legs from view, his face and hands were visible now, no longer covered by bandages.

And it was _not_ a pretty sight.

The burns on his arms were more or less healed, being low degree second burns at most and didn't give him too much discomfort except for a really bad itch (which the doctors strictly ordered him _not_ to scratch and provided him with an assortment of ointments and creams to cool down the skin) and some stiffness due to weeks of immobility, not to mention the cracked bones in his right arm and the impalement scar on his left one (it took him a while to be able to look at it _without_ being sick all over himself). He was already doing some basic therapy to regain strength in his arms, squeezing stress balls and such while sitting in bed.

However, the fact his arms were functioning again didn't mean they were a pleasure to look at. The skin was a mess of red and pink splotches – so far from his natural mocha tone – and he also had some scars from blisters he had accidently popped as he'd apparently developed a tendency to claw his own body during the worst of his nightmares. It all simply looked _wrong._ He had asked the nurses to bring him a long-sleeved hospital shirt under the excuse of being cold, but what he really wanted was to cover as much of his arms as possible so he wouldn't have to stare at his ruined skin all day.

And yet, it was nothing compared to his face.

It was only three days after the bandage on his left cheek had been removed that Lance had finally mastered the courage to look at himself. He had spent these days feeling nonstop around the scar (to the point Veronica had threatened to tell the nurses to tie his hands to the bed if he didn't stop), but every time his fingers brushed the bumpy, uneven skin he winced, trying – and failing – to calm himself down, to tell himself that Shiro had a scar right at the center of his face and that didn't make him look ridiculous or weak the slightest bit.

Of course, all these self-assurances vanished into thin air when he finally looked at the mirror Mamá held in front of him.

It looked so much worse than he'd imagined.

The patch of skin – about the size of his fist – stretching from his chin to the center of his left cheek shone an angry, wine-red shade, and was covered in bumps and scabs in varying shades of pink and even darker red like some kind of grotesque painting.

It was huge, taking nearly a quarter of his face.

And it was downright _disgusting._ He looked like a monster.

He broke into sobs right away, and Mamá wasted no time collecting him in her arms, although her hug was rather loose as the skin on his chest and shoulders was still awfully sensitive. " _Esta bien, mi amor,_ " she cooed, swallowing her own tears. " _No es tan malo._ "

"It's h-hideous," Lance hiccuped. "I'm so _ugly_."

" _No._ " Mamá pulled away, only to bring her hands up and hold his face between them, caressing the mutilated cheek with a loving thumb. " _No eres feo. Tú eres mi Hijo. Mi hijo es el hombre más hermoso de la Tierra._ " 

"B-but the scar…"

"… _es parte de ti,_ " Mamá cut him off gently, gazing straight into his eyes. " _Parte de mi hijo. Y por eso, es hermosa también._ "

Lance only sobbed harder, so physically and emotionally exhausted that he cried himself to sleep.

It didn't help that later the doctors told him the color and texture of the scar would improve with time; that there were all kinds of creams he could use to help it heal faster and keep it from getting infected, and even plastic surgery was an option if he'd be interested in the future. It wouldn't make the scar disappear, but it could improve his look significantly.

None of what they said mattered to Lance.

To him, all that mattered was the bottom line – his face would never look the same. This patch of skin would never be as smooth and flawless as the rest of his face, the part of him he'd spent so many years caring for in an almost ritual-like manner.

No. This was something even the strictest skin care routine could never fix.

He hadn't looked at his face again other than his brief visits to the bathroom, and even then he kept his eyes cast down at the sink, finishing his business as quickly as possible and all but fleeing back to bed.

How was he supposed to face his friends if he couldn't even face himself?

Veronica stood up and went back to Lance's side, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "Let's go, _hermanito._ They're waiting for you."

Lance gulped and pressed a button on the chair's right armrest, wheeling it forward. At least they gave him a chair he could move on his own without needing someone to push him; it saved him one form of humiliation out of way too many.

The halls of the medical wing were mostly empty, as lunch had already begun and everyone had probably gone downstairs. Lance was relieved at that, willing to avoid the curious and sorry looks as much as possible, until he remembered he was heading exactly where all these people were and his stomach churned at the realization.

Sooner than later they arrived at the cafeteria. His friends were already there, waiting for him near the entrance. They were all wearing their new Garrison uniforms, tailor-made for them in their respective paladin colors. Lance had one as well, neatly folded and waiting for him in one of his drawers. He hadn't been able to try it on yet.

Pidge was the first to notice him. Her eyes widened and she all but shrieked his name, running toward him with her arms open, face brightening in excitement…

Only to stop mid-way when her gaze fell on his face, smile gradually fading as her eyes trailed down to his scarred hands and blanket-covered legs.

Lance flinched unconsciously. He knew he wasn't exactly a sight for sore eyes and he truly did not blame Pidge for stepping back, considering it was the first time she saw him since the battle, but it hurt nonetheless.

The girl quickly composed herself though and closed the distance between them, taller than him now that he was sitting.

"Hey," she said lightly, though no longer attempting to touch him. "It's so good to see you."

Lance tried to smile, but then he felt the skin on his left cheek stretch and twist and thought with alarm it probably made him look even more grotesque, and his mouth drooped again. "Good to see you too," he said and fought the urge to stare at his lap, not knowing what else to say.

Luckily Hunk, an expert ice breaker, joined them, no longer in a wheelchair like Lance but still leaning on one crutch as his shattered leg hadn't fully recovered yet. "You've chosen a good day to come down to lunch," he said cheerfully. "They serve garlic knots. It's your favorite, right?"

Lance shrugged, not bothering to point out he was probably unable to stomach garlic knots at this point.

"Excuse me." An accented voice was heard and not a second later Allura was crouching in front of him, arms reaching forward. "May I?"

Lance thought about it for a moment, then nodded, heart fluttering in spite of himself. The princess smiled tenderly and wrapped her arms around him. She leaned her chin on his right shoulder, careful not to press too hard.

"I have missed you dearly," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "My brave, brave paladin."

She planted a kiss on his forehead, right between the eyes, and Lance felt his face burn in a way that for once had nothing to do with fire, completely forgetting his scar before he choked out "I missed you too" and clumsily patted Allura's waist with his own feeble hand.

Allura's smile widened and she gazed at him for a long moment, her jeweled eyes sparkling. "I hope you did not try to flirt with the cute nurses while I was absent."

Lance almost bit his tongue as he mumbled an incoherent reply, face still uncomfortably hot. He could hear Veronica snicker behind him.

A loud cough interrupted his train of thought and they all turned to see Shiro standing at the entrance to the cafeteria, watching them in amusement. "How about we get inside? We can all catch up while we're eating."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Hunk sighed and limped toward him while rubbing his stomach with his free hand.

Lance wheeled himself forward, only to be stopped by Keith who placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you really okay?" he asked quietly.

Lance hesitated. He may have been able to put up a brave face in front of the other paladins, but Keith was having none of it. After all, he was the only person – aside from Lance's parents – who had unlimited access to Lance's room, even during the latter's most sick and miserable days, and especially at nights.

Because whenever Lance got lost in another hell dream, Keith was there to guide him back to reality, to safety.

_We hear you._

_You're not there anymore._

_You're safe._

_We hear you._

He kept coming even after he was released from hospital and moved to the paladins' private dorms in a different section of the building, using his wolf to teleport himself to Lance's room whenever Red called him.

Lance felt a pang of guilt and shame every time he thought about it. It didn't happen every night – and in the first days after the surgery on his thighs he'd been on so many drugs that even if he had dreamt during that time, he hadn't been lucid enough to remember any of it – but it happened enough times for Keith to sport dark circles under his eyes, indicating his heavily disturbed sleep schedule. Lance had tried to apologize to him numerous times, as Keith was still recovering from his own injuries and needed all the rest he could get, but Keith had always shushed him with a dismissive wave, insisting he was fine, that he didn't mind, that Lance had nothing to be ashamed of.

"You've been through a… tough experience," Keith had said, arms crossed. "I get that. No one is blaming you for having… bad memories."

Bad memories. Lance had almost laughed at the understatement, but he had been touched by Keith's efforts to find the right words to comfort him. Besides, he was still feeling guilty.

"But that doesn't mean Red has to wake you up each night," he had said. "It's not fair to you. Maybe I should… talk to her." Lance couldn't hold back a shudder at the thought. He still hadn't been able to actively open his connection with Red. She would reach out for him at times, so tentative it was almost as if she hadn't been there at all, but Lance was yet to trust himself to do the same. He feared that if he tried to seek out her comfort, her _warmth_ …

He'd only get burned again.

Keith had sighed. "You can talk to her if you want. She's _your_ lion, and I know how much she misses you. But don't ask her to stop what she's doing just because of me. I already told you, I'm _fine_."

"You're exhausted. I can see it."

Keith had shrugged. "Nah, I don't need that much sleep. You know, Galra genes and all."

Lance had narrowed his eyes. "You just made that up."

"Ah, no, I'm totally serious," Keith had said, although the edges of his mouth had quirked up. "Ask my mom if you don't believe me."

"Yeah right, like you Marmorites ever sleep at all." But Lance had dropped the argument for now, as his heart swelled at hearing Keith call Krolia 'mom' (it wasn't the first time, but it still nearly brought tears to Lance's eyes, because it was a constant reminder that this war had brought along some good, no, _wonderful_ things as well, and he desperately needed that reminder), and he didn't want to ruin the moment.

He missed those little banters; it has been so long since he had a _normal_ conversation with someone, a conversation that didn't revolve around his health or his nightmares or whatever.

He needed to start feeling normal again.

Lance swallowed past the lump in his throat and sent Keith a small smile. "Yeah. I'm okay. Let's join the others."

Keith's face softened, and if he didn't quite believe Lance, he didn't let it show. "Alright. After you." And with that they entered the cafeteria, Cosmo following suit like a guard dog (Lance wondered, and not for the first time, whether he ever left Keith's side).

They settled around one of the corner tables, currently guarded by Coran while the rest of the group went to get food. He had already gotten rid of one of the chairs so Lance could wheel himself over there. Lance mouthed a 'thank you' at the old advisor, who replied with a wink and a tug on his moustache. Keith instantly took the seat next to Lance, apparently waiting for the others to return to get his own tray, and Lance nearly chuckled at the similarity between his and Cosmo's expressions – both vigilant and wary as if they were on a mission. His heart sank a moment later when he realized the mission was probably watching _him._

His sister's voice shook him off his depressing thoughts. "I'm going to get you something and then go eat at the officers' dining room," she said. "Is that okay?"

Lance nodded. He had already forgotten the senior staff had their own dining room; he truly hadn't been here for ages.

As he waited for her to return he became more and more aware of the stares and whispers around him. He felt his face heat up again and bowed his head down, staring stubbornly at his hands. He knew he shouldn't be surprised – after all, he was one of the Voltron paladins, one of the heroes who'd saved Earth, and it was the first time he was seen in public since his injury. It was only natural for people to stare, even if they were reluctant to approach and actually talk to him (whether it was due to his frail appearance or the deadly stares Keith and his wolf were shooting everywhere, he wasn’t entirely sure; either way, he was convinced the choice of this specific table, which stood at one of the corners opposite to the entrance, wasn't coincidental at all). He thought how, had he been healthy and not _broken_ , he'd probably enjoy the attention, strut around the place like a peacock and blow kisses at random girls, and his stomach knotted.

"Lance?" Coran asked carefully. "You alright there, lad?"

Lance was already sick of that question. He forced himself to take a deep breath. _Calm down. It's just one lunch. You can handle this._

"Yes, I'm good. Just a bit hungry, that's all."

Coran opened his mouth as if to ask him more questions, but the rest of his teammates have just returned, placing their trays on the table and chattering loudly. Lance was glad about the distraction.

Veronica showed up along with them and handed Lance a tray. It was nearly empty, with only two bowls of what looked like vegetable soup and mashed potatoes, and a glass of water. "They had all kinds of stuff, but I don't think you're allowed to eat more than that now," she apologized.

Lance shook his head. "It looks great. Thanks." He tried to ignore the way his stomach rolled at the sight of the plain food.

Veronica squeezed his shoulder one last time before she told everyone to enjoy their meal and took off.

The others paladins continued their chatter, barely casting a second glance at Lance while he slowly closed his stiff fingers around his spoon and filled it with soup. He was grateful for their oblivion, as he feared his hand was going to shake or make him spill the food all over himself like it did when he tried to eat in his room. His coordination was pretty lousy these days.

"So, Hunk," Pidge said, a devious grin smeared on her face. "How was your date with Shay yesterday?"

Hunk nearly choked on his food, coughing and spattering bits of garlic in all directions. "It wasn't a _date!_ " he rumbled. "We just went for a walk around the base! It's part of my physical therapy, you know!"

"Does your physical therapy require you to go on walks with Shay, of all people? At _sunset_ , of all times?"

"Pidge, lay off him," Shiro scolded, albeit smirking.

"Yes," Romelle said, tossing a piece of broccoli into her mouth. "I think they make an awfully cute couple."

"We are _not_ a – damn it," Hunk brought a hand to his face, ears turning crimson. Everyone giggled, and even Lance couldn't smother a snort of laughter, careful not to spit his own food.

"I would like to hear more about that walk," Allura chimed in. "Please, do share some information, Hunk."

Hunk lowered his hand and glared at her, but then his gaze fixated on her plate. "Hey, where did you get stir fry noodles? I hadn't seen those!"

Allura frowned. "Don't think you can change the subject so easily. But I got these over there," she pointed at one of the serving stations.

For some reason Lance followed her finger, eyes focusing on the cook who stood at the station a few feet from them, expertly handling a wok over a large flame.

A large, bright-orange, _hot_ flame.

Lance's spoon dropped from his grip with a loud clatter.

The flame, _flames_ , roared in his ears.

The smell of smoke hit his nose, mixed with the smells of metal and his own flesh burning and suddenly it was in his throat and in his lungs and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't _breathe_ , his vision was filled with angry blurs of red and orange and he was going to suffocate, he was going to _die_ , please, can anyone hear him, he was going to die and everything _hurt_ and –

" _Lance!_ "

A strong hand grabbed one of his own and he whimpered at the touch, trying to free himself because he was _trapped_ and he had to get out because if he stayed here he'd _die_ –

"Lance, please. Open your eyes." His eyes were closed? How? All he could see was fire.

"Lance, it's me, Keith. Please, open your eyes. You're not in the Red Lion. You're here with us. You're safe."

Keith? How did he get here? Lance had been screaming for hours but nobody seemed to hear. He tried to suck in a breath, but his throat had too much smoke in it and he coughed, eyes tearing at the effort.

"Lance, you can breathe. There's plenty of oxygen here. You're not in Red, you're not on fire, everything is alright."

Not in Red?

Then where –

Oh.

_Oh._

His eyes flew open at once and he found himself staring at the pale, worried faces of his friends. Coran and Shiro were standing as if wanting to help but not sure how, and Hunk looked as close to tears as he was.

Lance's mouth went dry. Great. He just made a fool of himself in front of everyone by having a panic attack over a _wok_. What a pathetic, useless thing he was.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but the smell of stir fry still filled his nostrils and he gagged, slamming one hand over his mouth as he felt with dread what little food he'd managed to force down come back up with vengeance.

"Do you want to go back to your room?" Keith murmured in his ear, his tone calm but with a hint of urgency.

Lance nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. _Dios_ , he was going to make a mess. He had to get out of there _now_.

He felt Keith guide his other hand to rest on something soft and thick – Cosmo, he registered blearily – and then there was a _pop_ and suddenly he was back in his room, the white, empty walls hurting his eyes.

A tick later he lost his meal all over the blanket, as Keith hadn't managed to fetch a bowl in time. It hurt his chest because he barely had anything to expel, so he started crying, mumbling broken apologies between sobs and grabbing the handles of his chair so hard his hands also started to hurt because the room swirled around him and he felt like he was going to pass out.

"Stop apologizing." Keith sounded distant, and Lance wasn't sure whether he'd stepped aside to get away from the stench of bile or if his hearing was simply getting weaker because he was going to black out. "I'll go get a nurse, okay? Cosmo, _stay._ Keep an eye on him for a minute."

There was a sound of a door closing and Lance felt himself fading, head dropping against his chest and body going slack. He was vaguely aware of the hands grabbing him a minute later, vertigo only growing worse as he was lifted from the chair and his entire world went upside down. Something cool rubbed against his upper arm before it was pierced by a long needle, and then darkness engulfed him and he knew no more.

-x-

"Come on, just a few more steps. You can do it, buddy."

Lance's arms shook from clutching the handrails for so long. Sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes, and his breath was labored as if he'd just finished running a marathon, when in reality he'd barely covered fifteen steps.

"That's it, don't give up. You're almost there."

Lance puffed his cheeks, then pushed his right leg forward with a grunt. His palms were slippery from perspiration and he nearly lost his grip on the handrails, but he only grabbed harder, determined _not_ to fall on his butt this time. He made sure his right leg was more or less steady before moving the left one forward.

"Alright, one more step and… _there you go!_ "

Noam, the physical therapist, cheered triumphantly when Lance collapsed into his arms, so exhausted he didn't even have the energy to feel embarrassed about it. He guided him into the wheelchair and handed him a small towel to wipe the sweat off his face and shoulders.

"Great work today," Noam said and kneeled in front of Lance's legs, already setting about massaging the rough skin. Lance wanted to cry with relief when his cramped muscles were pulled and stretched by the therapist's skillful hands.

"Really?" Lance blurted out, still panting and blinking to clear out the dark spots that danced in front of his eyes. "Because I feel like face-planting the floor, and I barely did anything."

Noam chuckled. He was tall and strong and had kind, chocolate-brown eyes that crinkled every time he smiled, which he did quite a lot, as apparently he found Lance's lame jokes absolutely hilarious. Lance had liked him from the moment he introduced himself as his physical therapist (and so did his sister Rachel, who came once to pick up Lance from the therapy room and blushed to the roots of her hair when Noam so much as said hi). "You walked the entire lane, while yesterday you barely made it through three-quarters of it. In my lexicon, that's called 'progress'."

Lance sighed. "I guess you're right." These tiny, barely perceptible bits of 'progress' seemed to be all he could get lately, so he had to cling to them if he wanted to keep his sanity.

It's been nearly two months since his injury, and his life have more or less fell into a routine of treatments and rehabilitation programs, mainly physical and occupational therapy to regain muscle and movement, especially in his lower body. Healing was slow though: during the first few weeks Lance hadn't even gotten up from his chair, as his therapist had focused solely on massages and baths and basic stretching exercises. Only lately they've started working on standing up and walking around, always with the assistance of either Noam, a grab bar or the wall (Lance had tried once to get to the bathroom on his own without leaning on anything; he'd ended up on the floor, hitting his head so hard he'd suffered a mild concussion _and_ extremely vocal reprimands from all of his siblings once he was better), and never more than a few steps at a time. The term 'baby steps' has never been more accurate, Lance thought bitterly.

Still, he assumed he should be satisfied. His doctors kept telling him that recovery took time, that he shouldn't expect his body to magically bounce back after such a serious trauma, that he needed to be _patient_.

His family and friends also repeated the same mantras. In fact, they all seemed to have an unwritten agreement to never leave him alone for more than two minutes: someone was always by his side to talk to him, make sure he didn't try anything funny like walking without assistance or simply sit with him and keep him from getting lost in his own thoughts. Between them, the doctors, the nurses and his caregivers, Lance was rarely left unattended. While it could be annoying at times (especially during meals, when both his mother and Hunk watched his plate like a pair of hawks to make sure he ate every last crumble), it was still so much better than being alone with his fears and nightmares.

Because while he was getting physically stronger every day, albeit slowly, his mental scars were still far from healing.

He hadn't come back to the cafeteria since his breakdown last month. Veronica had offered to speak to the kitchen supervisor and ask if it was possible for all dishes cooked over an open flame to be prepared inside the kitchen and not at the serving stations, but Lance refused to hear any of it. He didn't want to mess up the whole work routine of the kitchen staff just because he couldn't handle the sight or smell of fire. He already felt worthless enough, unable to do anything by himself – he did not need to be reminded of that every time he went down to eat.

However, he didn’t want to eat alone in his sickbed either, so he settled for wheeling himself to the floor's small lobby and meeting there with his friends, who would bring food from downstairs and extra chairs from the nearby rooms so they could all sit and eat together. Not everyone was present all the time, as they all had their individual projects and duties (Lance wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when he realized that while Allura and Shiro were meeting presidents and world leaders to form allies and come up with plans to rebuild their planet, he was still trying to figure out how to put his pants on without help), but they made sure at least three or four people would join Lance every meal.

Mealtime usually went without issue. However, one evening his family gathered to celebrate Sylvio's birthday, and Lance couldn't help but notice that when Luis' wife brought out the cake, it didn't have a single candle on it. While no one commented on it, and Sylvio looked as happy as a kid could be when he was given permission to eat as much cake as he wanted, Lance still felt responsible for ruining such a fundamental birthday tradition – and in a world torn up by war, God knew they needed those traditions to give them a sense of normality. He put up a tight smile for his nephew's sake, but the second he went back to his room and closed the bathroom's door behind him he broke down, sobbing for about twenty minutes straight until his father knocked and asked if he was okay in there.

It didn't help that his body was a constant, ugly reminder for what fire was capable of. Although the doctors were pleased with the healing pace of the scars on his arms and chest, the skin still shone angry pink and if he stared at it for too long he got nauseous. As for the scar on his face… well, it was less swollen now and started to look more like a birthmark than a burn scar, but Lance could still barely bring himself to look at it. He wondered if he'd ever be able to do so.

He didn't get to see much of his stomach and thighs, as once the skin there was durable enough, they had been wrapped in compression garments nearly all the time – to promote better circulation of the damaged tissues, reduce pain, increase skin length and such. But the glimpses he got whenever the garments were removed for baths or massages were enough for him to avert his gaze until they were back on. 'Revolting' didn't even begin to describe the mess of distorted flesh and eschars.

But no matter how everyone around him did their best to keep him occupied, or how exhausted he was at the end of another day of intensive therapy, he never got to enjoy a full night rest. Every time he closed his eyes he found himself back in the Red Lion, screaming for help while the flames ate through his armor and roasted his skin. No matter how many times he'd dreamt about it before, each time was as terrifying and _painful_ as the day it happened.

Realizing the nightmares were not getting better with time, Lance's doctors started to come up with all kinds of possible treatments. Psychotherapy, anxiety medications, even medical hypnosis. All of these, they assured, were well-known and efficient techniques of treating PTSD, but hearing about them has only made Lance feel more hopeless. The thought of talking to anyone, of voicing his fears out loud only scared him more, and he most certainly did not want any more drugs, as he was still taking a low dosage of painkillers and even that has often made his head too heavy.

He knew he shouldn't be refusing treatment like that. He _had_ to get better, because the war was far from being over and sooner or later he would have to put himself out there again and fight for the sake of the rest of the universe. He'd give anything to stay on Earth with his family, but he knew it wasn't a possibility. The other paladins have already resumed flights with their lions, if not for training then for flying around the planet and helping wherever they could. Lance's heart clenched when he thought of Red, all alone in her new hangar on the Atlas (those had been added soon after Sendak's defeat) without anyone to pilot her. He himself felt lonelier than ever, despite being was surrounded by people nearly twenty-four hours a day.

The doctors have told him recovery would take time, but the universe didn't have time. Haggar was still out there, gaining more and more power and waiting for the right moment to strike. He needed to stop being such a useless potato and get back in business.

But…

He was just so _scared._

Noam finished working on his legs and gave his knee a light pat. "Alright, you're good to go," he said, cheerful as always. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Noam." Lance turned his chair and wheeled himself out of the room, hoping that a bit of Noam's optimism would stick to him too.

He did not expect to run into Allura, who was sitting elegantly on one of the waiting chairs outside.

"Lance!" she got up and walked to him, grinning. "How was therapy?"

Lance jumped a little in his seat, both surprised and embarrassed for having the princess see him all sweaty and gross from exercising. "A-Allura," he stammered. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping we could talk," Allura said. Then, she breathed deeply and added, "Alone."

"Um… okay." Lance almost blurted out his usual comeback – "are you asking me on a date?" – but the words got stuck in his throat. Ever since he's become… well, _this_ , he didn't particularly feel like flirting with anyone.

"Is now a good time?" Allura asked. "Or do you wish to get some rest first?"

"No-no-no, now is perfect," Lance rushed to say. He looked around. "Um, where… I'd invite you to my room, but my siblings keep coming in and out like it's central station…"

Allura pointed at the end of the corridor, which led to a narrow, seemingly empty balcony. "How about there? The air is quite refreshing this afternoon."

"Sure." He followed her there, heart pounding for no apparent reason. Once they were out he felt a cool breeze against his face and closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feeling after so many weeks of breathing the sterile, antiseptic-like air of the hospital.

Allura chuckled. "I told you it was refreshing."

Lance's eyes snapped open. He almost forgot she was there. "What," he said clumsily, "What did you want to talk about?"

Allura's smile faded. She waited a few moments before saying, "About the Red Lion".

Lance's breath hitched. That was it. They needed him to go back to piloting Red. To form Voltron. To get back on the battlefield, where there were blasts and _fire_ and…

"I know that lately you've been having some difficulties bonding with the Red Lion." He heard Allura's voice as if from a distance, and forced himself to breathe normally again. He refused to have another panic attack in her presence.

"Did Keith tell you that?" he asked quietly. Not that he could really blame him; They all needed their Red Paladin back, after all.

Allura sighed. "Yes, he has. Please, don't be upset. He was just trying to help. We all are."

As Lance said nothing, Allura cleared her throat and continued. "I understand that after what happened, connecting with your lion through the bond, let alone piloting it, can be… hard. Which is why," she drew a shaky breath, "I have tried to talk to Red myself; to convince her to let us switch lions again, so that I would pilot her and you could go back to piloting Blue."

Lance's eyes widened and he would have probably leapt off his wheelchair if his legs hadn't felt like jelly. "You… you'd do that for _me?_ " he croaked.

"Of course I would." Allura's eyes clouded though. "Unfortunately, Red wouldn't hear any of it. She…" her voice cracked for a moment and she released a small cough into her palm. "She wouldn't even remove her particle barrier to let me in. I am so sorry, Lance."

"Allura…" Lance felt his chest burn with guilt. He remembered well how badly she had wished to pilot the Red Lion – back when they'd lost Shiro and Keith had to step in and pilot Black in his absence. Although Allura had tried to keep a straight face after Red's rejection, Lance had been well aware of her disappointment, of her _pain_ for not being able to follow her father's footsteps and become the Red Paladin. And now she had to experience that pain again, and it was all his fault.

Allura shook her head. "It's okay," she said, although her voice was still a tad thicker than usual. "I suppose the Red Lion still thinks that your place is with her, as the Red Paladin and Voltron's right hand, and we must respect her will."

Lance sank in his chair. Well, that seemed hopeless. He couldn't even picture himself setting a foot in the Red Lion's cockpit without freaking out, let alone sitting in the pilot seat, where he'd… where he'd almost… a phantom pain pierced his left arm, where the shard of glass had pinned him down, and he shivered, hoping Allura would attribute it to the afternoon chill.

"However," Allura said after a short silence, "I believe I have found a way to help you nonetheless."

Her words hung in the air and it took Lance a second to understand their meaning. He opened his mouth, flabbergasted, but no sound came out.

"It… it is hard for me to explain," Allura continued. "I think it would be best if I just showed it to you. Will you come with me to the hangar of the Blue Lion?"

Well, that only confused Lance more. What did Blue have to do with his bond with Red? "But you just said…"

Allura shook her head. "As I said, it is hard to explain. Which is why I am asking you to trust me on this."

"I trust you," Lance said mechanically, even though the scars on his arms started to itch – like they did every time he was nervous – and it took everything in him not to scratch them.

Allura smiled, albeit tentatively. "We shall get going then."

About ten minutes later they both stood at the new Blue Lion hangar on the Atlas. Only then Lance realized this was the first time he had been to one of these hangars; Hunk, Pidge and Coran have chatted about them enthusiastically more than once, but Lance had never truly paid attention. He had been either too depressed or tired to care, and it wasn't like he understood much of their scientific jargon anyway.

For what it was worth, the hangar looked more or less like the hangar at the old Castle of Lions. The Blue Lion sat there silently, tall and regal and unwavering, and suddenly Lance felt a yearning he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

He bowed his head down, eyes burning. _Get it together. Allura has already said you couldn't switch lions. Stop being such a baby._

Allura looked at her lion for a long moment, then squared her shoulders and turned to Lance. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Lance watched her as she approached Blue, then knelt in front of her massive paw and patted it gently. "I need your help," she whispered. "With… what we discussed earlier."

Before Lance could wonder what exactly their discussion was about, Blue's eyes lit up – so bright and sudden it made Lance squint uncomfortably – and then she _moved_ , lowering her head until her snout lay right in front of Allura. Lance's breath hitched at the sight.

Allura stood up, facing the metal snout, and placed both her palms against it.

A few moments later, she started to glow in blue.

Lance tried to yell in surprise, but the sound lodged in his throat.

Allura turned back, eyes empty and glowing like the rest of her, and walked slowly at his direction. Lance instinctively leaned back in his chair, knowing it was pointless, but he just couldn't help himself because he was utterly and completely freaking out.

Allura knelt in front of him. "Do you trust me?" she asked. Her voice sounded wrong – like her usual voice, only _amplified_ , with a somewhat metallic feedback to it which made the hairs on Lance's neck stand.

"Y-yes," he said in a small voice. His knees grew weak – well, _weaker_.

Allura shut her eyes and placed her hands on his chest, right above his heart.

It was as if a fountain exploded inside of him.

He could feel waves of energy – liquid, cool and oddly _familiar_ energy, like the echo of an old memory – wrapping about his chest and sending ripples through his entire body, all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes and into his head, flowing in his veins and filling his entire _being_ with something he couldn't quite name, but somehow he knew it meant _calm_ and _protected_ and _safe,_ and the bursts of blue light that danced in front of his eyes were blinding and comforting at the same time and –

Wait.

_Blue_ light?

But he wasn't –

And then it all passed at once. Lance felt Allura's hands leave his chest and he opened his eyes – he had no memory of closing them – slowly, grimacing as the white light of the hangar was suddenly too bright for him. He blinked a few times in attempt to focus on the princess again. When he finally succeeded, he realized she looked almost as worn out as he felt – breathing heavily, skin several shades paler than usual. Her eyes, however, went back to normal, and flickered while she examined his face anxiously.

"How do you feel?" she demanded, voice quivering the slightest bit.

Lance swallowed. His throat was painfully dry. "W-what…" he stammered, still panting. "What just h-happened?"

"I need to know how you feel first," Allura insisted.

Well, Lance had no idea how to answer that, because he still felt too many things he couldn't even begin to explain to himself. His right hand rose to his chest, where he could still feel traces of the same foreign yet familiar energy, beating steadily in tandem with his heart.

"I – I'm not sure," he said with effort. "Fine, I guess? But like… _weirdly_ fine? Does that make sense?"

Allura sighed, though a small smile tugged at corners of her mouth. "The Blue Lion is the Guardian of Water," she said. "Therefore, her quintessence is associated with healing, purification and rehabilitation. What I did right now…" she took a deep breath. "…was taking a small portion of that quintessence and transferring it to you."

Lance's jaw dropped. "Is that even _possible?_ "

"Well, I wasn't quite sure it would work, to tell the truth," Allura said, somewhat apologetically. "Transferring quintessence from one being to another is a delicate process, as there is always a chance the recipient will reject it. However, since you were once bonded to Blue, I have decided to give it a chance. I still don't know if it worked, but your body seems to have accepted her quintessence without resistance, so at least the first step was successful."

"But why give me Blue's quintessence?" Lance asked. "How is it going to help me bond with Red?"

Allura's shoulders sank slightly. "Well, there is only one way to find out." Her jeweled eyes gazed into his, full of meaning, and Lance didn't need to ask again what she had meant.

He gulped. "Will you come with me?" he whispered.

She smiled softly. "Of course."

-x-

The hangar of the Red Lion looked pretty much like Blue's hangar, but Lance didn't actually notice any of that. His gaze was fixated solely on his lion, who was lying on her side with her paws spread in front of her like a giant, discarded rag doll. Lance's heart ached at the sight. She looked so _miserable_ , forgotten by her paladin and unable to move on her own.

She looked just like how Lance felt in the first few days after he woke up. How he _still_ felt from time to time.

His hands fisted around the armrests of his chair.

"Try to wake her up," Allura said gently from behind him.

Lance inhaled deeply. "R-red," he croaked, barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Red," he repeated, louder. "It's me. Lance. Can you let me in? Please?"

For a few long moments, nothing happened. Lance watched his lion in despair, fearing she hadn't forgiven him yet for abandoning her and decided to shut him out. But then her eyes lit up with the familiar, yellow gleam, and she raised her head, only to lower it a moment later to the floor, opening her jaw to let him into the cockpit.

Lance turned his head to Allura, heart pounding. She sent him an encouraging smile and gestured at Red, signaling Lance to lead the way.

He wheeled himself up the ramp, growing more and more nervous as the cockpit was slowly revealed to him, and tried to make himself focus on the sound on Allura's steps behind him. He was so relieved Red had let her in with him; he had no idea what he'd do if she insisted he'd enter on his own.

Eventually the door was slammed shut behind them and they stood in the dark cockpit, illuminated only by the lights of the hangar that went through the front window.

It looked exactly like it did two months ago, before they went on that last, fateful battle. The pilot chair, the console – everything seemed to be intact and in place, as if someone had been working hard on cleaning the mess of charred metal and broken glass and fixed everything that required fixing. Probably Coran, or Hunk once his leg was fully healed, or both. They hadn't told him anything though. In fact, in the past weeks they had all been extremely careful not to mention anything related to the Red Lion in Lance's presence.

Lance's stomach churned when his eyes lingered on the pilot chair. It was the same chair that crushed his body two months ago, that had him trapped and unable to escape while the flames devoured his body and his lungs were filled with smoke and…

"Lance, _breathe._ " He didn't even notice he was holding his breath until Allura's concerned face appeared in front of him. She covered his right hand with her own, her fingers cool to the touch. Lance exhaled with a loud gasp, trying very hard to focus on Allura and not on the chair.

"S-sorry," he rasped.

Allura smiled sadly. "There is nothing to apologize for. I can only imagine what terrible memories this place holds for you. However, I am still going to ask you to try and reach out for the bond once more. Not for my sake, not for the universe's sake, but for _yourself_ , first and foremost."

And Lance knew she was right. He didn't know yet why she had passed Blue's quintessence to him, but he did know he could trust her with his life – after all, she _had_ brought him back from the dead once.

And he _had_ to get better. He had to at least try.

"Can you help me up?" he asked sheepishly. "I'm still not very good at, well, um, walking without falling flat on my face."

Allura's face brightened. "Of course! Would you like me to carry you?" she looked a little bit too excited about the idea.

Lance's ears pinkened. "Please don't. I mean…" he coughed. "I can stand. I just need to lean on something."

"Oh! Alright." She hovered over him while he pushed himself from the chair with effort, swaying and holding back a cry when the ache in his atrophied leg muscles came back with vengeance. Allura put one strong (Quiznak, he forgot just _how_ strong she was) arm around his waist and helped him limp to the pilot chair, where he collapsed ungracefully, panting and hating himself because it was literally no more than four steps.

"At least I get some physical therapy out of that," he joked lamely. Allura huffed out a dry chuckle and stepped aside to lean on one of the cockpit's walls.

Lance drooped in the chair, running out of jokes or excuses to delay the inevitable. He took one last, steadying breath, and closed his eyes, reaching out to his lion for the first time in two months.

The wave of heat that hit the back of his mind was so overwhelming he instantly recoiled. Red's fire burned bright and fierce and was filled with hope and _longing_ , so deep it stung Lance's heart, but it was simply too _hot_ for him to handle and his own yearning for his lion was quickly replaced with the impulse to get out of there before the flames grab him again.

But just when he was about to break the connection, another presence invaded his mind. A different, _cool_ presence, a stream of water that washed away some of the heat but didn't quench the flames completely. They kept burning, but less strong and threatening, and the suffocating heat quickly turned into a pleasant warmth – a warmth that wrapped Lance's body like a blanket, like a hug from someone who loved him and wanted to protect him at all costs.

And just as the thought passed through his mind, the word _safe_ echoed there, but it was not expressed by one, but _two_ voices.

Red and…

An old friend.

Could it be...?

_Blue?_ He thought in disbelief.

_Right here_ , came the answer from the other voice, and Lance felt a drop of something like cool water sliding down his dry throat, strengthening him.

_But… the bond…_ he was so confused. He was the _Red_ Paladin. Receiving Blue's quintessence was one thing, but for her to join the bond…

_The bond with Red is as strong_ _as ever_ , Blue soothed, _but it also hurt Red Paladin deeply. Blue is here to help, so Red Paladin will never be hurt again._

_But how…_ he swallowed nervously. Was he the paladin of _two_ lions now? What about Allura?

_Red Paladin is not Blue Paladin,_ Blue corrected immediately. _Blue Lion is just helping. Like a shield._

Lance's heart swelled. He felt so many things at once, had so many voices in his head, but somehow, none of them felt wrong. In fact, despite his racing heart he felt more at peace than he had in ages.

_Red…_ he hesitated. _Are you sure you're okay with it?_

He barely finished expressing the question before the cockpit came to life with a powerful roar, panel and handles lighting up in a splash of bright colors.

And that was all Lance needed to know the answer.

_Thank you,_ he whispered. _Both of you._

Blue responded with a small, joyful spray of water while Red's flames crackled softly, _anything for my Paladin._

_Her_ paladin. These words have never sounded more right to his ears.

_Welcome home._

He was truly, _finally_ home.

The lights in the cockpit went off with a soft _whoosh_ , like someone had blown off a candle, and Lance found himself staring again at Allura's hopeful face.

He flexed his fingers around the armrests of the pilot chair to regain feeling in his arms. "What did Blue mean when she said she was 'a shield'?" his voice was raspy, as if he hadn't used it in a while.

Allura released a long breath and came to lean on the console in front of him. "Once the Blue Lion's quintessence intertwined with your own quintessence, it created a layer of protection to keep it from the worst of the Red Lion's heat. You can think of it as a barrier – no," she corrected, "Not a barrier, as it does not block your connection with Red. Perhaps the term 'filter' is more suitable."

"A filter made of quintessence?" Lance repeated, the words not making sense to him at all.

"Quintessence is a powerful form of energy," Allura said. "Probably more powerful than we can ever understand. It has the power to attack and destroy, but also to protect and heal. Red's quintessence is also capable of all these things. However, since the… incident," a muscle worked in her jaw, "Not only your body has been hurt, but also your spirit. It was wounded so deeply it had lost the ability to distinguish friendly from harmful quintessence. This wound had severed your bond with Red, as every attempt to activate it was seen as a threat and forced you to shy away instantly.

"As I said earlier, the Blue Lion's quintessence – being representative of the water element – has the strongest healing qualities. I believed that if your quintessence absorbed some of these qualities, it would help you find again the balance that had been lost in the bond. Wasn't it what you just felt?"

Lance thought about the way the angry, boiling heat that had nearly devoured him was replaced with a warm feeling of safety and piece. How he could practically feel Blue's water pour over him and wash away the fear, like rain on a barren ground. He nodded slowly, allowing Allura's words to sink it. "But is it going to happen every time I connect with Red?"

"That I do not know," Allura admitted. "This shield will act according to your emotional and mental state whenever you activate the bond. You might need it permanently, and it might dissolve on its own when the time is right. It is there for you in any case; you alone will know when you need it."

And with that, the last knot in Lance's chest finally loosened. His lips pulled into a grin – a _real_ one – and he didn't even care how it contorted the left side of his face. "Are you telling me you actually _knew_ all of this before we got here?"

Allura smiled sheepishly. "I _had_ consulted Coran beforehand… we were not able to do proper research since the Castle's library had been destroyed with the rest of it, but we both agreed it was worth trying. And of course, I had to ask for Blue's permission to use her quintessence. Although she agreed right away when she heard what I was planning to do with it."

Lance's grin widened. "My old girl is always taking care of me. No offense, Red," he patted the panel and relished in the amused purr that echoed at the back of his mind. "Actually, now that I think about it, I'm _surrounded_ by awesome girls who are taking care of me. I mean… you're pretty amazing, Allura, you know that?" he blurted out, blushing instantly. "I mean, I already knew you were amazing after putting Shiro's soul back in his body and restarting my heart when we fixed that shield and all that… but _this…_ Allura, I don't know how I can ever – " His voice died down as, to his dismay, the smile vanished from Allura's face and she cast her eyes down sorrowfully.

"Um… Allura?" Lance asked carefully. "Is everything okay?"

Allura flinched at the question. Her arms rose to hug herself and she turned away from him, staring at the floor. "That thing you just said," she said quietly," "it is not true. I am not amazing at all."

Lance quirked an eyebrow. "Excuse me, but I think using space magic to transfer quintessence from a robot lion to a human counts as amazing by pretty much everyone in this universe."

But Allura only seemed more upset. "It was the least I could do," she mumbled, "As I hadn't be able to – to help you when you truly needed my help."

"What are you talking about?"

"I tried to use my powers to heal your injuries," Allura burst out, tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes. "Back when you – when you were unconscious. I went to your room when the doctors weren't around and tried to reach out to your quintessence, but it was already too late for that." She shivered and hugged herself tighter. "By the time I got there, your body had already started its natural healing process and rejected my attempts at healing you with quintessence. It took them as a threat, not as a cure. You – you were in so much painand there was _nothing_ I could do." A choked sob escaped her lips and she brought one hand to cover them, shoulders trembling as more silent sobs wrecked her body.

Lance nearly leapt from his chair to comfort her, but caught himself on time, figuring the last thing he needed was another concussion. "It wasn't your fault," he whispered eventually.

Allura bowed her head down and wiped her eyes with one shaky arm. "I know," she sniffled, "But I still feel like I should have done more."

"You've done more than enough. Allura, come on," Lance stretched out his hand. "I can't see you suffering like that. What happened to me…" he inhaled deeply, collecting himself, because _he needed to say this_ , "I-it wasn't anyone's fault. Well, it was actually Sendak's fault, but that guy is dead and I'm – we're all – " he took another steadying breath, "We're all here. Alive. So, there's no point in wallowing in guilt, right?"

Allura stared at him for a while, then smiled wetly and took his outstretched hand. "You always say the wisest things."

"Well, you always do the coolest magic tricks."

"This wasn't a magic trick!" Allura protested, though her eyes had a playful glint to them, and Lance laughed – just when was the last time he did _that?_ – and leaned back in his chair as he felt the first waves of exhaustion creep into him. Well, he assumed anyone would be exhausted after a day of therapy _and_ having two sentient robot lions babbling in his head.

But, for once, he didn't mind the fatigue.

Because he had a feeling things were going to be so much better from now on.

-x-

"Alright, guys," Shiro's voice rang through the comms. "The sky is clear and everything is ready for take-off. Whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, Shiro," Keith said. "Is everyone ready?"

"Yes sir," Hunk said, full of self-importance. "I'm at your command, sir!"

"Please stop that," Keith said wearily, but the hint of a smile could be heard in his voice. "Pidge?"

"I'm ready," Pidge said. "Let's get this party started."

"Same as here," Allura chimed in.

Realizing it was his turn to respond, Lance cleared his throat and said, "I'm ready." He cringed as his voice came out much weaker than he wanted.

A purple blip appeared on the panel and he hesitated before pressing it. Keith's face, framed by the cockpit of the Black Lion, popped up on the screen instantly. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly. There was no heat or impatience in his eyes, only concern and sincerity.

Lance closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reaching for the back of his mind. Red replied with a soft purr that made his chest tickle with warmth – a _good_ kind of warmth – and Blue quickly followed, her presence not as strong but still there, soothing him like raindrops.

_You are safe._

Lance sighed in content and opened his eyes. He flexed his fingers around the handles and squared his shoulders, his new fire-retardant armor (all of their armors had been upgraded) only a tad heavier than the old one, which was all but destroyed in the crash more than four months ago. But Lance didn't mind the weight at all. His body felt light and _whole_ , at last, and so did his soul.

"I'm sure," he said and grinned at his leader. "Let's do this. It's been a while."

Keith grinned back. "As you wish," he said and turned off the private connection. A moment later Lance heard him yell in the comms, " _Form Voltron!_ "

The others cheered, Red roared gleefully, and Lance's heart soared.

All was well.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I stole that last line from Rowling, but this thing was over 11k, cut me some slack XDXD
> 
> Did you read the whole thing? Did you enjoy it? Please leave a comment before you go. Unfortunately I feel like I'm coming down with some sort of stomach bug, so comments will definitely cheer me up while I'm slowly dying.


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